


through the lonely nights that fall

by teaforest



Series: nacre [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canonical Pet Death (mentioned), Gen, Grooming Behaviors, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Stalking, Pining, Pre-Relationship, self-destructive behaviors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:53:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21993256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaforest/pseuds/teaforest
Summary: "Something happened between Sochi and me showing up in Hasetsu. There has to be a reason why the JSF removed you from every competition following All-Japan that year [...] I keep thinking about it, and it doesn't add up."In which hearts are broken, toyed with, and slowly pieced back together in the span of four months.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: nacre [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1227839
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was partly inspired by [I Will Be There](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UW0ipg-sLWE) from the 2009 _Count of Monte Cristo_ musical* (and is the source for the title). By "partially", I mean the general outline already existed as "for personal reference" notes, I stumbled across this song, and promptly got bit HARD to write it out as an actual fic.
> 
> *not available in English despite what the soundtrack might lead you to believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's side is darker due to getting an actual glimpse in how life was like for him pre-Victor. _For that reason_ , I do want you to remember that Yuuri is unaware of the abuse he's going through. As far as he knows, this is only a little bit weird and something that can be brushed off as "eccentric rich people nonsense".
> 
> (Also: firm reminder that despite Shirogane's actions, he's not actually invested in sleeping with Yuuri. They are still _grooming behaviors_ , but he mostly just sees Yuuri as eye candy with an important purpose.)

**_Post Grand Prix Finals 2015 - Sochi, Russia_ **

Dawn hasn't bruised the city skyline yet, but Yuuri finds it across his sore legs all the same when he wakes and forces himself to move.

Through his pounding headache, he tries to take stock in his condition. His glasses are first, but they're folded and on the nightstand like they should be. His shoes are neatly placed by the door, his jacket hung over the room's singular chair, his belt and tie draped over it. His pants are also straightened out along its pressed folds and laid over the seat, leaving him in nothing but his loosened, horribly wrinkled button-up and his underwear that's twisted out of place around his hips. There's also a spare bed linen folded and laid across the foot of the bed, a stark sheet of white against the paisley quilt cover the hotel provides.

Embarrassment and shame wells up and spills over as he drops his face into his hands, still sitting on the bed. He couldn't even take himself back to his room, could he? As if he hasn't burdened Celestino with enough of his problems this past week. He probably had to leave the banquet so he stopped making the sponsors uncomfortable. No one wants to see someone miserably drinking in the corner, especially someone who was supposed to be representative of his whole country and federation.

He's so sore, so _exhausted_ even after a night's sleep. God, had he really cried himself to sleep once he'd been brought back up? That's the only thing he can think of happening, especially given his legs still look like a terrible mottled mess after how many damn falls he'd taken during his free skate. He doesn't even remember half of them -- had it always looked this bad? He'd done worse than he thought.

As he breathes deep and slow to calm himself, he catches the faint sting of champagne coming off the fabric of his shirt. Had he spilled some, or had he really drunk that much? It's odd, though -- he remembers a sharp, tannic taste to the wine, but there seems to be a softer, more delicate scent on him, too. Something almost floral. Was the champagne sweeter than he thought? Would the FFKK and the ISU really serve a sweet champagne instead of a dry? Sure, it's easier for less-experienced drinkers to swallow, but with how classy they like to present themselves...

Well. It's not like it even matters. Not much does, after losing Vicchan, humiliating himself in front of thousands, not even being notable enough for Victor to recognize him in the back halls and just thinking he was a fan that managed to sneak in -- or worse, a _Junior_ , like it would make more sense for him to be that terrible if he was still relatively new to skating.

It's like he's wasted the last five years of his life for nothing.

Yuuri falls back onto the bed again, wrapping himself up in the ugly quilt and squeezing his eyes tight to block out the rest of the world for a little while longer. In the back of his mind, a dark and terrible thought starts to take root in the open sores of his battered heart.

He should have never bothered chasing Victor and just let him stay his childhood idol.

He should have listened to Shirogane all along.

* * *

****

**_Post All-Japan 2015 - Sendai, Japan_ **

"I don't understand, Katsuki-senshu. You're not injured, you're not in pain -- how did this happen if that isn't the reason?"

Yuuri doesn't look up. He's not even sure he has the right to that anymore.

When he doesn't answer, he hears the representative sigh, heavy and remorseful. "If you cannot give us an answer, Katsuki-senshu, then you also give us no choice. We cannot, in good faith, let you continue this season."

He thinks he feels himself flinch, but it's drowned by the cold shame flooding through him. He knows it's his own fault he ended up in this position. If he'd been stronger, if he'd been _better_ , none of this would have happened.

"We leave you in Chairman Shirogane's hands," says the representative. The shame stings sharper. "Take care, Katsuki-senshu. I sincerely hope this isn't the last time we'll meet."

He doesn't know how long he sits in the quiet waiting room, the clock ticking on the wall deafening, but the door opens with a soft hiss of air passing around the solid wood and the tap of leather soles slowly approaches him. They stop just in front of him, their black points just visible past the rim of his glasses.

Yuuri tries to breathe, scrunching his eyes tight behind his hands. As soon as a cool hand settles on his head, fingers slipping through his hair, the first sob breaks free.

"Oh, Yuuri-kun," Shirogane sighs, thumb moving slow and repetitive against his roots. "And after all you've done to come this far."

He tries to apologize, but he can't swallow down the ugly sound that comes out of his throat instead. Shifting his hands to keep any more from slipping out just allows him to see the tears dripping onto his lenses. His eyes sting and burn, so he squeezes them shut again to block out as much of the world as he can.

Something soft and covered in thin plastic touches the back of his hand, and he fumbles for it with shaking fingers. The bag tears easily, and though he ends up dropping the pack he still has a solid grip on a tissue he uses to try and soak up everything leaking from his face. It's not enough. Of course it's not enough. His best has never been enough--

"You still cry so easily," he hears Shirogane remark, and the hand in his hair pulls away only to curl around the bridge of his glasses. As they're pulled from his face, Yuuri unable to protest, Shirogane continues, "But you have your reasons this time, I suppose. You did adore that dog of yours so."

The reminder of Vicchan -- poor, sick Vicchan who'd suffered alone, gone too quickly for Yuuri to do anything to help -- tears a fresh sob out of his throat. He doesn't care if it makes him pathetic, that it shouldn't bother him as much as it does seeing as he hadn't even seen or _held_ Vicchan since he was eighteen. Vicchan was his dog, his _Victor_ who loved him wholeheartedly--

A large hand circles his wrist, tugging firmly but not unkindly. Yuuri tries to resist, too ashamed to let even Shirogane see his face, but he's too weak to hold out for long.

"That's enough," Shirogane tells him. Yuuri can't see his expression like this, but he can feel the piercing golden hue of his eyes burn into him. "The world doesn't wait even for you, Yuuri-kun. You need to clean yourself up and go forward."

He doesn't have the strength to resist when Shirogane pulls him up to his feet, but he staggers and feels himself lean against the man. He's not really that much taller than Yuuri, not anymore, but he's still sturdy enough that when Yuuri slumps against him he doesn't move. Yuuri sniffles, trying to make sure he doesn't ruin Shirogane's suit, but between the familiar scent of Shirogane's woodsy cologne and the hand still around his wrist he finds himself burying his face into the man's shoulder, his own shaking.

Shirogane doesn't say anything, but Yuuri feels him shift his grip to run his thumb across his inner wrist in the same soothing gesture he'd done to Yuuri's hair minutes ago. He hiccups from the effort of swallowing down his tears.

"Poor thing," he hears Shirogane murmur, and the shame that's haunted him since Sochi freezes his blood once more. "They're fools, aren't they? Letting you go so easily."

"I messed up," Yuuri finally manages to croak out. "It's my fault, I messed up. M'sorry."

Shirogane clicks his tongue. "Of course you did, you silly boy. Did you really think you could handle everything on your own?"

No, he wishes he could say. But Celestino was clearly wasting his time with Yuuri, if Yuuri was just going to choke at the most important moment. He deserves to spend his time on better students, ones who can actually do what they're supposed to. It was better for them to go separate ways.

"Imagine how much worse this would be if I weren't here," Shirogane says, voice low and matter-of-fact. "The people you've dedicated so much of your youth to have abandoned you over a bad couple of performances. Don't you deserve better than that, Yuuri-kun?"

Yuuri shakes his head, scrunching his eyes tight. Shirogane tuts, his fingertips digging into Yuuri's wrist.

"Has Amano been bothering you again?" Yuuri jolts, going painfully still even as his heart rate skyrockets in memory of the past week. The air around him goes cold, almost bitterly so. "I see. So he's been taking matters into his own hands. I'll have to talk with him about that."

"Don't!" Yuuri can already see how this will look to Amano, who already thinks so lowly of him. He's been accused so many times of running off and tattling to Shirogane whenever Amano pushed him to the point of tears over the years. If Amano thinks Yuuri's blaming _him_ for his terrible performances over the past few days, even if it's kind of true-- "Please, I-- I should've done better. I know that. He didn't tell me anything I didn't already know."

There's a rustle of fabric as a cool finger brushes his ear. Yuuri flinches, not expecting it as he pulls away and gawks at Shirogane in stunned disbelief.

He immediately regrets pulling away, because now he sees the full force of Shirogane's sharp golden eyes narrowed, brow knit tight and mouth downturned. Shirogane doesn't get mad often and never at him, but when he does he's _terrifying_. He drops his gaze immediately, biting his cheek to keep from quailing too much.

Shirogane's finger hooks around Yuuri's ear again, and despite his shaking Yuuri stays still this time, swallowing down his discomfort. The pad of a thumb rubs against his skin, strangely light for the heaviness of the moment.

Finally, Shirogane breaks the silence.

"I thought this was just a mark from your glasses," Shirogane says, voice flat, "but this is too thin for that. What did he do."

Yuuri's memory immediately supplies the crack of painted drywall, the snap and whistle of a shoe next to his ear right before impact. He shakes, eyes stinging as a revelation belatedly comes.

Shirogane's grip on his wrist tightens. Right. Yuuri needs to answer him. But Amano--

"Perhaps I need to put you somewhere safe for now."

Yuuri startles, lifting his eyes to meet Shirogane's. The dark anger has receded enough to simply look displeased and unimpressed, but the intensity from before is still burnt into Yuuri's mind.

"For now, we'll let this pass and forget it happened," Shirogane continues, letting his hand finally fall from Yuuri's ear. "It isn't much, really. Barely anything at all, if they didn't notice it in the exam just now. However, it does limit our options. I would have suggested coming back with me to Minato, but clearly someone needs to be reminded not to let his little temper tantrums get in the way of his work."

The wince he makes at that is visceral. Yuuri has _definitely_ earned himself the gold medal in pissing off Amano, at least, and he does _not_ want it.

Shirogane lets go of Yuuri's wrist to properly support the frames he's still holding as he slips them back on Yuuri's face. Yuuri doesn't know when he cleaned them, but none of the tear stains speckle the lenses and the waiting room around them seems even emptier than before now that his vision isn't obscured.

"Let's head out, Yuuri-kun," Shirogane says simply, dropping his hand onto Yuuri's shoulder and pulling him so they're side-to-side. His hand shifts to just above Yuuri's shoulder blades, fingers pressing into his nape. "These people have wasted enough of our valuable time."

It should relieve him that no one but Shirogane saw him break down over this. Instead, he just feels more shame gnaw at his ribs. He can't keep relying on Shirogane to bail him out of his incompetence. He has to figure out a way to handle his problems on his own.

But... how?

(Far out of Yuuri's earshot, in an office several floors up, another exchange happens:

"I can understand withdrawing Katsuki from Four Continents, but the rest of the season? We're hosting Worlds -- what's it going to look like that we don't even have someone representing our own country there?"

"You heard Chairman Shirogane. Katsuki-kun is too delicate right now -- if he pushes himself any harder, he runs the risk of a total mental break. It's a shame, but letting him recuperate for the rest of the season is better than losing him for good."

"Ah, it really is a shame. It really shouldn't have taken _that man_ , of all people, scolding us to realize we were putting too much pressure on our Katsuki."

"Even a man as cold and cutthroat as him has his weaknesses, I suppose.")

* * *

**_Fukuoka, Japan - January 2016_ **

The new year passes without fanfare.

Yuuri is alone in his temporary apartment, a short-term lease for the next three months. There were no rooms open in any of the share houses close to the university, and even if there was he doesn't think he'd have accepted them. Shirogane offered to find him a nicer place, but Yuuri refused; he got himself into this mess, so it was up to him to get himself out of it.

It's a tiny space compared to what he had in Detroit, even sharing with Phichit -- just fifteen square meters, a single room and an en-suite just barely bigger than his childhood bedroom with a small fridge and a shelf holding a microwave and a single gas cooktop on one end, a single bed and a desk on the other. The bathroom has just enough leeway to open and shut the door, everything else cramped up together to make the most of the small space.

It feels wrong. Punishing. But it's what Yuuri deserves.

He hears his neighbors complaining, clearly foreigners by their choppy attempts at ordering pizza he has to endure through the wall. He doesn't tell them to quiet down, even when he's studying and has to wince through their screeches at the sight of roasted corn and mayonnaise swirled on top -- which is their own fault, because the fliers in the mail definitely include pictures. But failures don't get to be picky. Failures have to take what's given to them, because they're lucky anyone's giving them anything at all.

It's odd, though. Sometimes, as he curls in the bed with the blankets tight around him, he closes his eyes and finds himself back in that bathroom in Sochi's back halls. Staring, eyes red and face tacky with drying tears, completely bewildered at the hissing, spitting fourteen-year-old boy who seemed more offended by Yuuri's humiliating loss than he'd been.

_"We don't need two Yuris in the same bracket. If you're gonna suck, then just retire already." And louder, harsher, right in his face-- "Loser!!"_

He knows Yuriy Plisetsky is good. Not good enough to break any of Victor's old Junior records, but he comes close. And if Yuuri does retire, the boy won't have to worry about getting his name tainted by someone who couldn't even hold himself together long enough to fake competency at the one thing he's supposed to be good at.

But Yuriy Plisetsky is a boy who trains in the same rink as Victor Nikiforov. He's going to be overshadowed no matter what he does. People are already calling him the next Victor, the one to take the reins as king of the figure skating world once Victor retires in the next few years. No one will ever remember someone like Yuuri in comparison. He doesn't know why the kid even cares, not when he's got bigger concerns right in front of him.

Yuuri stares at his laptop, his open notebook dotted with marks from a pencil tapped against the paper. He knows all this, but he doesn't understand any of it. He's forgettable, but noticeable enough to be hunted down by a Junior champion. He has a degree to finish, but he feels ill if he stops to think of the best ways to use it.

He wants to skate, but he has no rights to. Not after how badly he failed.

The apartment feels smaller the longer he works. He tries to ignore it, just as he's ignored everything else important in his life that's led him here.

(He wants to move.

He wants to skate.

He wants--)

* * *

A rink employee takes one look at him, nearly drops the rental skates they were cleaning, and scrambles to unlock the doors with more apologies than Yuuri deserves.

He keeps his head low, muttering his thanks as they keep babbling. He doesn't want to get someone else in trouble, but he can't stand to stay in that apartment alone any longer.

His mind races as he goes through his stretches, already feeling the effects of not skating over the past three weeks. Minako would be furious that he's lost some of his flexibility. Celestino would frown in disappointment that his form's sloppy to make up for it. Phichit would sit behind him and lean back, forcing him to bend forward properly so neither slipped and fell while he chattered about who knows what.

Nishigori would probably sit on him and threaten to squish him, just like he often did when they were kids because he was so much bigger than Yuuri despite only being a year older. Yuuko would just as likely smack Nishigori's shoulder, huffy and scolding with her face, before sitting across from Yuuri and beaming, leaning forward herself to tell him the latest she'd read about Victor in some magazine.

But what would Victor do?

Probably ignore him. Just as he had at Sochi. Why would someone like that ever pay Yuuri any attention?

Once he feels decently limber enough, he finally grabs his skates and sets them in his lap. He hesitates with his fingers over the knotted laces, wondering if he's making a mistake. If he should put everything away and pretend he never came.

_"Victor wouldn't hesitate!" Yuuko's hair whips around her, the tips of her ponytail catching on her lashes that she blinks away without so much as a second thought. "C'mon! You said you'd meet him, right?"_

Yuuri had met him. He hadn't been good enough.

But he refuses to have that be the story he tells Yuuko when he finally goes home. After she lost her chance to skate competitively, _he_ should at least have something more to say than admit he'd been a total failure.

He's on the ice before he realizes. It's the first time since nationals, but his body still remembers how to balance and move. Of course it should, though -- Yuuri's been skating since he was _five_ , how could he forget in just three weeks? He's a mediocre nobody, not a complete disaster.

He's nothing compared to people like the Russian Yuri, compared to Chris or JJ or Victor. He's not nothing when it's just him and the ice.

He goes through warm-ups, making sure his skates still feel all right after his break. He's still managed to go rusty in three weeks, but it shouldn't be that difficult to shake off. Once he works his way to center-rink, though, he freezes.

He _should_ run through his programs. He _should_ make sure he can still do them, in the event he's able to salvage his career and needs to reuse them next season. But he remembers Mari trying to stay calm, Amano not even bothering to hold back as he cornered Yuuri against an armchair, the burn of thousands of stares as he tried and failed to keep himself together long enough to at least pretend his world hadn't fallen apart in the span of forty-eight hours.

He remembers the tiny little ember of hope in his chest dying as Victor turned to look at him with that same placid smile he gave reporters and offered to take a picture with him like he was a complete nobody.

No. He should, but he can't. He _won't_.

But if he can't skate his own programs, then why the hell is he even here?

(What would Victor do?)

His head drops. He breathes, brow furrowing as he tries to calm himself.

_"Victor would do--" and Yuuko jumps, just a single since they were alone and none of them wanted Nishigori's parents catching them and yelling at them for being reckless, "--this! Come on, you do it, too, Yuuri-kun!"_

He'd done what everyone else had done, when _Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare_ debuted. He'd gushed over the beauty of the program, listened to the music when it released, practically threw the lyrics at Celestino for a translation and sat in rapture as Celestino squinted at the phone screen and translated to the best of his ability before a proper translation was posted.

But it has never resonated with him as much as it does now.

Minako has always taught that there was no such thing as perfection. If you thought you were perfect, you got sloppy, and you needed to go back to basics. If you _were_ actually good enough to be called technically perfect, then you were failing to emote your character properly. A great dancer is someone who can balance the two, as skilled as the performance itself needs and with all the heart of the character the dancer is supposed to be portraying.

Yuuri may not be anywhere near Victor's skill level, but with how much his heart's been hurting over the past month, he's sure he doesn't need to be. Not for this.

It doesn't matter what Victor would do. What _Yuuri_ is going to do is go back to his roots, remind himself why he fell in love with skating all those years ago. And if that involves picking apart Victor's latest program, seeing if he can perform it in its entirety? Then only he needs to know that.

After all, Victor has his place in Yuuri's formation as a skater, even if he's too far above Yuuri to notice him.

* * *

He gets into a routine.

He wakes up and jogs down to the nearest convenience store to pick up a ready-made breakfast, usually whatever onigiri is quickest to grab and a bottle of tea. He grabs a few snacks to tide him over until lunch, along with a few cans of coffee, and jogs back to his apartment. The morning is spent pouring over class notes and going over his quizzes, correcting his mistakes and stressing about making more. At noon, he stretches out and cleans up his garbage, sorting recyclables and trash accordingly, then grabs his wallet and phone to head out for lunch. Usually he tries to avoid anywhere where people congregate, instead slipping into lines for street food carts and allowing himself to indulge in the kinds of foods he couldn't find without going well out of his way for back in Detroit: oden, yakitori, properly made ramen, _actual_ sweet potatoes and not those ridiculous orange things Americans insist on calling by that name. They're not great for him, but it's not like he's competing. He doesn't have to worry about his waistline anytime soon. Through the afternoon and evening, he works on whatever classwork he still has, usually bigger projects. With nightfall the better stalls open, and he hits the streets again. He dodges tourists, keeps his hat and scarf over him, lets himself blend into the crowd.

After dinner, he goes to the rink. He doesn't train, but forces himself to watch Victor's free skate and push down the shame of remembering their one interaction.

He figures out the step sequences first, finding them oddly straightforward compared to his own. The spins come after, dizzying in their intensity but suitable for the piece. The jump composition he hesitates on, but after marking them as simply as possible he slowly starts to push himself into matching Victor's level of difficulty. It isn't easy at _all_ , and he falls and bruises his legs and hips and hands with how often he hits the ice.

(He pointedly ignores how his athletic gear feels tighter on him. If he doesn't think about it, it's not a problem.)

It's the gestures that are hardest, strangely enough. As soon as Yuuri thinks he's got it, Europeans is being broadcasted and Victor's _changed_ since the Grand Prix Finals. Yuuri squints at his screen, not understanding the sudden burst of heartrending longing that's now permeating all of Victor's movements. He'd been... well, not _lazy_ , but more abstract in Sochi. Now, he seems like he actually _knows_ what he's reaching for and is suffering all the more for it.

The interviews reveal nothing. Either no one thinks to ask or if they do, Victor manages to completely dodge the question. It doesn't help that drama sparks loud and bold during the competition, a fan catching wind of the fact Victor's rink mates Georgiy Popovich and Mila Babicheva have been unceremoniously dumped (or in Mila's case, courtesy of screenshots, doing the dumping), though no one knows much beyond that.

Still, Yuuri feels an ache in him at the sight of the anguish on Victor's face when the camera zooms in on him during his free skate. It looks so real. It's almost as if he's actually calling out to someone and only receiving cold silence as an answer.

But that is something Yuuri understands intrinsically. The dead can't hear you, no matter how raw you wreck your throat, and neither can silly childhood dreams.

So he picks himself up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, and forces himself to get back to work. He's close to figuring everything out, and once he does he can work on refining it.

* * *

**_Fukuoka, Japan - February 2016_ **

When the date comes, he almost doesn't bother tuning in. He hasn't missed Four Continents in years, and being forced to sit out because he'd so heavily embarrassed his federation makes the sting worse.

But he can't do that to Phichit. Phichit doesn't have nearly the amount of support he deserves, coming from a tropical country where skating is more of an odd novelty than a serious sport or art form. And beyond that, Hasegawa is the one taking the bulk of the Japanese news stations' attempts to boost ratings in his stead, alongside Shindou and Watanabe for ice dance. The moment he hears his name, however, he panics and slams his laptop shut, heart racing and pounding against his ribs. His neighbors squawk and yell at him through the wall to keep the noise down. He wishes he could snap at them to do the same; he's sure they're travel vloggers at this point, for how often they keep talking aloud and making bad jokes about how Fukuoka isn't Tokyo ( _is that so?_ ).

It takes a long twenty minutes before he can work up the nerve to open up his laptop again. He has to refresh his stream, but the relief at the fact the commentators have clearly moved on from him as a topic is palpable. They probably only mentioned him that one time, anyway -- there'd been no reason to overreact like he had.

He ignores certain banners that flutter in the crowd when the Men's Singles start, figuring some more sympathetic skating fans hadn't gotten the message yet that he wasn't there. There's always underdog supporters. He's more focused on the tight press of Phichit's lips and the barely hidden furrow of his brow as Celestino talks to him, dark eyes glittering strangely. Both of them seem gloomy, but he can't place why.

Despite the odd mood, Phichit does all right. He forces up as sunny a smile as he can muster and has fun, the way he always skates. He falls behind in jumps, still shaky on the landing for his quad toe loop, but few seem to care. He falls to sixth as JJ pushes the rankings down after sitting pretty at fifth for most of the short programs, then to seventh as the young Kazakh skater he distantly remembers joining JJ's rink takes third. Some fans keep waving their banners, regardless of how the standings currently fall.

One of the commentators can't help themselves, and dryly says, " _Well, I suppose even without Katsuki here, things really didn't change that much._ "

Yuuri winces, biting his lip as the other commentator looks at their partner askance and signals to cut away. Right. He's supposed to be laying low. Not that it seems to be making much difference, if him being gone has just given people a free pass to insult him behind his back.

But though the insult stings, it's a different sort of pain from the burning shame he'd endured all the month before. It's almost familiar, less the sort to make him curl up and hide and more the small sparks he's learned to power through over the years. It burns like a sore muscle, alive with the thrum of adrenaline and the surety he'll get the memory of his movements written into it by the time practice is done.

It's the sting of wounded pride, and though Yuuri is still hiding for his own benefit, that sharp bite of indignation is enough to push him a little harder. He may be a nobody, but he's at least _decent_ as a skater.

He doesn't know why he cares so much. He's been benched for the rest of the season for a reason, and he's not even in shape anymore. It's pretty clear looking at him he'd given up entirely at some point. But it's one thing to accept giving up on his own -- it's another to hear other people mock him for being a quitter.

He didn't put off school when it would have made his life considerably easier to just not bother with university until he'd retired, even if it meant he's had to take an extra year. He doesn't cave to Shirogane's promises, even if he knows the man could easily handle his finances for him if he asked. Maybe he's not ready to go back to skating, but he's certainly not _quitting_.

* * *

JJ wins the Men's Singles after the free skate. Kazakhstan's Otabek Altin takes second, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world as JJ throws his head back and laughs while he slaps Otabek between the shoulders. Third is a very confused-looking Australian skater, who clearly has no idea what to make of the shenanigans going on between the gold and silver medalists. Phichit reclaims sixth place, and unlike Yuuri had in his position he brightly thanks everyone who's supported him and asks for them to keep cheering for him at Worlds.

Some comments ask about Yuuri's whereabouts, as many times before Phichit's been the only one to really have inside knowledge of Yuuri's hermit-like habits on the internet. Others call them out as rude, taking over another skater's post to ask about someone else. Phichit's only answer is that Yuuri's taking a much-needed break, then redirects everyone's attention with a flood of videos where he's continuing his ongoing reenactments of _The King and The Skater_ with his hamsters. Yuuri tunes out, refusing to let himself think about how quickly he seems to have been swept aside.

Midterm results are back, and he's doing... well. If nothing else, the break has been good for his schoolwork. He might actually make up for his exhausted mishaps in tests and quizzes now that he has nothing else going on.

It occurs to him that he's going to need to go to the campus for graduation, and his nerves sharpen their teeth on his throat. He only has the one suit, a reminder of his failures and being dressed down and belittled and mocked for not being able to pull himself together. It's been dry-cleaned since, holding no more of the scents from either of those occasions, but the memories linger.

He could get a new suit. He could completely leave behind all of it, regardless of the price, and ask the one person who'd be happy to help. It's not like the figure skating world really wants him back. He can keep skating even as a professional instead of competing, if he really must. There'd be no pressure. No need to count technical scores. Nothing more intense than a triple axel, so he can focus on the areas he's actually _good_ at. No one would miss him. No one would even notice he was gone.

Still, something stops him from picking up the phone and making his decision. A lingering regret, maybe. An inability to fully let go of something he should have given up years ago.

But Yuuri still has his pride, despite how much abuse it's gone through these past couple of months. It'd be smarter to just let himself fade away, but he was so close before. So, so close to fulfilling a dream he's held close to his heart for half his life, as much as it hurts to think about even now.

(What would Victor do?)

\--No. Yuuri knows what Victor would do. He'd press on, brush it off, because it was laughable that he'd be affected by all this doubt and anxiety that keeps threatening to swallow Yuuri up every damn day. People like Victor don't fail to begin with, and Yuuri is nowhere in the same league as him.

* * *

**_Fukuoka, Japan - March 2016_ **

His graduation day is littered with pink sakura buds on the trees and bright green grass outside the university's main administrative hall.

Yuuri tries to ignore the gawking and curious stares of his class, aware this is the first time most of them have realized they were attending the same university as a (former) nationally ranked athlete. His professors even seem surprised to see him, though he doesn't understand why. Of course he has to show up for graduation, right? It's the least he can do after managing to dodge classrooms for the past five years.

He'd worn his one suit to graduation for lack of anything else, in the end. It's odd, though; the faint burst of florals on it have long since faded, but he still can't think of what could've gotten into the fabric in the first place. Too strong an air freshener? Someone spraying perfume on him? The small clusters of early-blooming flowers along the paths remind him of it as he makes his way to the auditorium, though he wonders why it sends his heart racing as much as it does.

His family isn't in the audience, though he doesn't expect them to be considering how busy the onsen can be this time of year as the weather finally grows warmer and fresh produce becomes readily available again. He is surprised, though, to see a familiar face lingering in the back, out of immediate sight and clapping appropriately when Yuuri's class representative finishes passing out the diplomas.

Once the ceremonies are over, he sucks up his nerves and courage before braving the crowd. He barely has to; Shirogane reveals himself as soon as Yuuri's stepped away from the main cluster of families and friends celebrating, his usual half-smile on his face and a gift bag tucked into the curve of his arm.

"You look well," Shirogane greets him with. Yuuri ducks his head, embarrassed as he eyes the softness of his belly. He rarely ever lets himself go this much. "I take it you've made your decision, then."

Anxiety nips at him from the back of his mind. He swallows, nervous.

Shirogane reads his mood as he often does, and huffs a small sigh before shifting the gift bag to his hands. "We don't need to discuss it just yet, Yuuri-kun. Today is for celebration, is it not? You've finally graduated, and with high marks."

"Not top marks, though," Yuuri says finally.

"With the amount of traveling you did, I would have been more surprised if you did have top marks," Shirogane drawls. "High marks is good. It means you're resourceful even if you don't know the answers. That is more valuable than thinking you know everything off the top of your head."

Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut, feeling a familiar sting at the back of them. "You're too kind, sir."

He slowly accepts the gift Shirogane brought, carefully cradling it against his chest. He _should_ peek and see what it is, but he's almost certain it's going to be something both practical and expensive. Shirogane would accept nothing less, even with his particular fondness for white gold and abalone inserts. He's not sure if it will be too much, especially when he knows his answer will just disappoint Shirogane further than his quiet hiatus from skating _should_ have.

Shirogane doesn't care about skating, after all. He supports Yuuri because he's known him for most of his life, the closest thing he has to an uncle. That's why their contract is more personal.

"Do you plan on joining your classmates for the celebration?" Shirogane asks. Yuuri pauses briefly before shaking his head. Shirogane laughs. "I should probably tell you to do so, but let's be honest with ourselves: you're already leagues ahead of them and don't need it. Instead, let's go celebrate more like real professionals do."

Before Yuuri can protest, Shirogane reaches around and turns him, guiding him away from the auditorium. His hand settles high between his shoulders, fingers pressed against the base of his neck. The pressure is just barely there, but he feels his back straighten in response.

"There you go," Shirogane says, tone light. Yuuri flushes; he hadn't even noticed that he'd started slouching. If Shirogane could see it, then it's a good thing he's the one who corrected it. _Minako_ would be a hundred times worse. "Stand proud. You're a grown man now."

At twenty-three, Yuuri figures he should have been here last March. Maybe he'd have completed his schooling on schedule instead of taking an extra year because of skating, for all the good it's done him.

Shirogane leads him towards his rental car, the usual sleek luxury brand he favors. In his cheap suit, Yuuri feels distinctly out of place and like he shouldn't touch anything. He's alone, strangely enough. Usually Amano follows him around like a very possessive guard dog, snapping and snarling at anyone who so much as looks at Shirogane in a way he doesn't like.

"I have him handling a few things for me while I'm out of the office," Shirogane explains, his usual half-smile quirking up. "His temper is much more manageable when he's kept busy, I've noticed. Perhaps you're too independent for his liking?"

Something curls uncomfortably in his chest, even as he huffs a weak laugh at Shirogane's teasing. It's not a big deal. Amano's never liked Yuuri and Yuuri's never liked Amano. He's given dozens of reasons why, each more ridiculous than the last, while Yuuri just wanted him to _go away_. But has he really been making things worse by giving Amano _less_ reasons to stick around when neither of them particularly want to see each other?

The car door shuts, and Shirogane turns the ignition. Wherever they're going, he knows it will be quiet, low-profile, and comfortable, because that's the sort of environment Shirogane most favors when they meet up in consideration of Yuuri's own introverted tendencies.

* * *

The teahouse is nothing like Sumie's place in Hasetsu, dimly lit and proper where Sumie's is bright and welcoming. There are scent-neutralizing oil lamps in every private room, their glass frosted to more closely resemble the paper of the decor around them. They're meant to be palate-cleansing, apparently, since tea can be a strong and lingering scent.

Well. Yuuri never said Shirogane didn't _spoil_ him whenever they met up, even if he feels more than a little bit out of place.

"Now," Shirogane says after the wait staff takes his orders and leaves them to their own devices. "Be truthful with me, Yuuri-kun. Are you better now, having stepped away from your little hobby?"

Yuuri blinks at him, bewildered. Does he mean skating? "I, ah... I guess?" He looks down at the table, taking in how dark it looks in the low light of the room. "I got a lot done I would've struggled more with if I kept up my old schedule. It was... nice, not thinking about competitions for a little while."

Shirogane hums. "I see. It seems that you don't particularly enjoy it anymore. That's surely no way to live, don't you agree?"

"...No. It's not." When was the last time Yuuri actually enjoyed competing? Has he ever truly liked it, or was it always a necessary evil he'd have to endure just to reach Victor? "I still don't know what to do. It's all I know, but..."

"But it's taken more from you than you've gotten back." The light from the lamp flickers, casting shadows. "A bad investment on your part. But one you can easily fix, with my help."

They'd had a conversation like this once, years ago. The summer Yuuri was seventeen, in his final year of high school, Shirogane had been the one who'd escorted him to the different universities he could enroll in and had pointed out every time Yuuri hesitated because he knew Minako wouldn't like it. Minako, who Yuuri trusts and adores like a second mother, but who also pushes him hard and has little patience for Yuuri's anxious nature and the way it holds him back. She's protective of him despite all that, but even Yuuri could agree she could get smothering and overbearing. He'd needed to not rely on her so much, to be his own person, and she wouldn't let him -- or, at least, that's how Shirogane saw it.

Shirogane gave him the space he needed to figure himself out, after all. Shirogane used a soft touch with a cool demeanor, kind but generally hands-off unless he needed to intervene like he had at nationals. Minako wouldn't have left him alone in that crappy apartment, not letting him maintain what little remained of his pride even if his living conditions were awful. But he only has a week left in his lease, and Yuuri is glad to have done it on his own instead of accepting a handout. If he could endure that, then surely he can figure out the rest on his own. Right?

"I'm sorry," Yuuri hears himself say. "I wish I could give you a straight answer, but I don't know yet if I'm going to keep competing or not."

"So you intend to keep skating anyway."

Yuuri shrugs. "Professionals make more consistent money. It might be better than gambling it all on making the podium at a handful of competitions and whatever sponsorship deals come my way."

Shirogane huffs a laugh, leaning onto the heel of his palm. "You are aware of who you're talking to, right? Yuuri-kun, if money is all you're worried about, you know you can just accept my offer. It's been open to you for whenever you're ready to accept it."

Yes. Yuuri knows.

Yuuri knows he could just agree to that offer Shirogane first gave to his parents when he was thirteen, then to Yuuri himself when he was seventeen. It's a heavy sacrifice, but Shirogane is a powerful man with a wide reach, and if Yuuri goes with him he'll never have to worry about anything but managing people and sitting in boring business meetings again. Hell, as a figure skater who'd been through it all himself, he could take over the liaison position from Amano and handle it himself, knowing how competition schedules work and when the best time to talk to the athletes will be. It'd be a good use of his skills all around. He could even still see the people he knew, attend their competitions and cheer them on in person.

But Yuuri would have to give up his family, and though his failures have been many and great, he can't imagine turning his back on them just to restore his own good name.

"I appreciate that you haven't given up on me like so many have, Shirogane-san," Yuuri starts, pausing only to swallow down his nerves. "But I-- can't. Accept it, that is. Not yet. I still..."

The wait staff returns with their tea and wagashi, soft mochi dyed pink for the sakura season. This is yet another thing Yuuri hasn't had in five years, as Americans don't honor the coming of spring this way. It's such a small thing, but it's another reminder that Yuuri is back on Japanese soil and doesn't have to pretend to be something he's not anymore.

Skating had taken him away from home with big dreams and empty promises. Now that he's been shamed into hiding, he's slinking back with his tail between his legs, expected to shrink himself down into being like everyone else.

"I haven't done what I wanted to do yet." Yuuri doesn't look up to meet Shirogane's eyes, staring down at the soft pink of the mochi. It's the same delicate color of Victor's free skate costume, not the bodice but the sheer material over his sleeve. He's been slowly returning to normal these past few weeks, from what Yuuri's seen and heard, but he still wonders what it was that had Victor acting so strange at Europeans. "Even if it's just once more, I..."

There's a long moment of quiet, then Shirogane huffs another laugh.

"Your foreign pretty-boy idol hasn't gotten around to breaking your heart yet, has he?" Shirogane drawls. Yuuri startles, finally snapping his head up to stare at Shirogane in bewilderment. The half-smile on his face is wry, expectant, like nothing Yuuri says or does will surprise him. "You really are so stubborn, Yuuri-kun. You'd be doing yourself a favor by walking away while you still like him so much."

Yuuri swallows and looks back down at the table. Victor hadn't known who he was. Even though he'd been the only Japanese skater present at Sochi, even though it should have been painfully obvious, Victor hadn't recognized him. Victor already made a crack in Yuuri's broken heart, but Shirogane doesn't need to know that.

Shirogane sighs and reaches for his tea cup when Yuuri says nothing in his defense. "Very well then. I won't pry further. Just know I am only a phone call away. Say the word, and I will see to it that you receive what you deserve."

* * *

**_Hasetsu, Japan - Late March 2016_ **

It's a late March afternoon, when he finally returns to Hasetsu.

He tries desperately to ignore the reports about Worlds, the best skaters all gathering in Yoyogi. If he'd gone with Shirogane, he could've spared a little time to see Phichit and Celestino again, just to prove he was alive and... well, he supposes, though that's not really the word he'd personally choose. But he'd said no, and Shirogane had accepted it as he always does before letting him go. He wonders if he'd made a mistake, continuing to chase a hopeless dream.

He doesn't know how to keep going forward, not like this.

His skating career is considerably harder to ignore in Hasetsu, as the old posters still up and oddly pristine at the station prove. It definitely doesn't help that Minako is _right there_ , loudly declaring his presence to any and everyone in earshot.

But as they make their way back to Yuutopia, he sees the damage his neglect's done. More shops have closed. More houses are empty. Hasetsu depends on him to keep tourism alive after so many of the onsen have fallen, and he'd let his overemotional self get the better of him. If he goes back to competitive skating, he can't risk letting his fragile heart take over again. He has to be stronger, strong enough that he can easily stand alone.

Just... how?

* * *

In the end, Yuuri does the only thing he really knows how to do:

He skates.

When he braves the steps up to Ice Castle Hasetsu, he's both surprised and yet not at all to see how grown Yuuko now looks with shorter hair and the fuller figure motherhood's given her. It takes her a moment to recognize him, but when she does she lights up and looks so much like her old self that Yuuri's chest aches. She nearly vaults over the counter to greet him but remembers herself at the last second, instead shooing him to the benches where they used to spend hours poring over magazines and gushing over whatever article they could find about Victor. Now, she hurries through the last of the front desk paperwork with an ease that comes with years of practice, yet another reminder that she's not entirely the same person Yuuri knew when he left.

She follows him in when she's done, cheerful and bubbly as she's always been. She doesn't ask unnecessary questions, just bounces on the balls of her feet as she talks about what Nishigori's parents are doing now that they've handed ownership over to their son, what her own parents are up to, how aggravating it is that Nishigori still thinks it's cute to tease her while she's cleaning up. She says nothing about the stretch of his gear over his stomach and thighs, a reprieve Yuuri is grateful for after having Minako freak out about it almost directly in his ear.

Of course she recognizes Yuuri's secret project as Victor's free skate immediately, once he's on the ice. He hears her breath catch as soon as he slips into starting position, letting his eyes flutter closed as he drags his head back to that horrible hopelessness he'd fought his way out of tooth and nail over these past few months. This is a proper way to grieve, for a skater. Not breaking down mid-skate and failing to acknowledge how badly you're humiliating yourself by continuing to push on like he had twice in the span of a month.

Yuuko is in tears and eagerly slapping the boards by the time he's done. It's so much like when they were kids, when Yuuko had a _chance_ to join him in the competitive circuit that he forgets himself for a moment. He thinks, briefly, _maybe if she has a partner--_

And then he's reminded, very harshly, why Yuuko long gave up her dreams of being a competitive skater.

The girls are so _big_ now, even though they're only five. They also look distressingly like Nishigori, making it impossible to forget who technically shares the blame of why Yuuko is here in Hasetsu instead of continuing to be the Madonna of Figure Skating all the way in Yoyogi.

Nishigori's still bigger than he is when he slips on the ice with him, grinning as he slaps the flab at Yuuri's belly and cracks a joke about being smaller for once. Yuuko smacks him immediately, shooting her husband a dirty look even as the girls screech in glee and join their dad in poking fun at him. But Nishigori shows a lot more maturity at twenty-four than he did at eighteen, and he nudges his girls when they start to get a little overexcited so they calm down and redirect their energy.

He's invited over for dinner, since he's already with them and the triplets latch onto his legs with an endless barrage of questions. He almost says no -- partly politeness, partly fear of the fact he still has no answer for what he's going to do with his career and they've managed to get their life back in order -- but he remembers that Minako is back at Yuutopia and undoubtedly drunker than when he left. He doesn't know if he can face her again today, not after already piling on disappointment after disappointment.

Nishigori claps his back and pushes him towards the exit, gleeful as he taunts how at least Yuuri's balance has improved over the years. Yuuri huffs and ducks under his arm, elbowing him in retaliation and darting away when he squawks and swipes at him. Yuuko groans about them still being ridiculous and immature, the triplets screeching with delight as they latch onto their dad to give Yuuri the advantage.

Their dynamic's changed since they were children, true, but much of it's stayed the same despite the time and distance they've been apart.

No. It'd been wishful thinking, but Yuuko is happy despite having to give up her dreams. He's just going to have to figure out how to find that kind of happiness himself.

* * *

**_Hasetsu, Japan - Early April 2016_ **

Of course, he discovers a few days later, the girls are the worst combination of Nishigori's sense of humor and Yuuko's excitability without either of their impulse controls.

He's supposed to be _lying low_ while he makes a decision. And here's evidence that he clearly _isn't_ , if he's gone and learned Victor's free skate while he was supposed to be finishing university!

Nishigori is very quick to apologize, which only makes Yuuri wonder how often he has to do damage control for the triplets' antics. Yuuko yells in the background of the call, not sounding like she's making any headway in getting the girls to understand why what they did was wrong.

After the call, he turns his phone off in fear of _anyone else_ trying to contact him -- from the JSF, Phichit, Celestino... oh, god. Amano. _Amano_ might actually try to kill him this time. And Shirogane will sigh, question why Yuuri keeps tormenting himself like this, but easily offer up his contacts to see if he could find a coach for him before he needed to make a public statement.

He can't do that this time. This time, he needs to figure out on his own if he really wants to do this. But how will he possibly know now? What can he do, now that the whole world knows where he is and are waiting impatiently for him to make his choice?

Outside, the sky turns white and the air becomes colder. What should be an early spring rain instead becomes an out-of-season snowfall.

Whether or not Yuuri knows it, there is one call that he answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further Bits:  
> -15 m2 = 161.4 ft2, for those of us who use the Imperial system. _That's_ how tiny Yuuri's apartment is and yes, it's based off actual apartments I've seen scouring Fukuoka's real estate sites. (In contrast, the apartment Yuuri had in Detroit would be no less than 700 ft2/65 m2, but it's more likely to be closer to 900 ft2/83.6 m2.)  
> \- In case you're wondering about the potato thing: [this](https://theforkedspoon.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/how-to-bake-a-sweet-potato-6.jpg) is the American sweet potato (also referred to as a yam despite not being a true yam) and [this](http://www.asianveganandbeyond.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/05/IMG_0762-2-Large.jpg) is an Asian sweet potato. Having grown up with both, I _largely_ prefer the Asian because it's got a better flavor and isn't nearly as watery.  
> \- The terrible travel vlogger neighbors are not roasting any particular person, I just keep seeing people like this and am constantly wondering what the hell they expected to happen. (Though yes, mayo and roasted corn on pizza is, in fact, [a thing](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Dj15OKRW0AE-Dho.jpg).  
> )  
> \- Contrary to how Yuuri's taking that commentator's remark, it's actually the guy snarking about how the crowd keeps waving Yuuri's banners around. This becomes slightly more evident in Victor's side.  
> \- Phichit's hamster reenactment may or may not be based on [this guy's](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC9a4bq1AkcTG9smpUuQHIOg/videos) shenanigans. He's not the only one I've seen do it, to be fair.  
> \- University graduation isn't commonly celebrated with families, but with friends and as a chance to network. They can show up if they want, but it's not expected of them.  
> \- Teahouses traditionally are a lot more private and isolated (often a single room with an attached kitchen to prepare and store things), but we're just going to pretend this is a modern building with private rooms.  
> \- Legally speaking, Yuuri couldn't sign for anything himself until he was twenty. The whole "sweet talk about personal freedom and not be treated as a child" thing was mostly Shirogane trying to secure Yuuri's cooperation before then. (You can tell that didn't work out the way he wanted, either.)
> 
> Next up is Victor's side, which features a lot more character interactions because as lonely as _he_ is, he hasn't been cut off from the world like Yuuri's been.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a precursor, Victor's side is lighter in tone than Yuuri's but it still contains subject matters that are worth noting.
> 
> \- There is mentions of Victor having a boyfriend in the past. Said boyfriend wasn't abusive, no, but still pretty clearly an asshole. This is meant to be the tie-in to why Victor has "a system" in place for dealing with overeager fans with no respect for boundaries.  
> \- There are implications of slut-shaming throughout due to Victor's assumed status as a playboy. Victor bites back against one of the more direct accusers for being hypocritical.  
> \- This is a fictional representation of the ISU and the JSF, and any resemblance to their real-world counterparts is entirely unintentional and coincidental.

**_Post Grand Prix Finals 2015 - Sochi, Russia_ **

The spare bed linen wrapped around Yuuri's shoulders and with Celestino holding Yuuri's discarded jacket and shoes, Victor pulls what might be considered a risky move by some and sweeps down his other arm under Yuuri's knees before standing. Yuuri squeaks and clings to Victor's lapels, but he soon relaxes again and drops his head back against Victor's shoulder with a tiny giggle and a darkening flush to his cheeks.

Victor might be a bit smug about it -- after all, Yuuri's spent most of the evening sweeping _him_ off his feet in various ways -- but Celestino clears his throat and Victor immediately feels ten years younger and like he should be embarrassed by the suspicious scowl he's getting from Yuuri's coach.

"I'm letting you help take him back up to his room because he's clearly forgiven you for yesterday, Victor," Celestino warns him. "But don't think I won't kick you out if you get too handsy with him."

Considering Celestino hadn't been around for the night's earlier show, which may or may not be the reason Yuuri's pants are so loose that they're only hanging on by the pinch of the waistband over his hips, Victor opts to keep his mouth shut. There's no point in mentioning that Yuuri had been bolder with him than a stray hand shifting so Victor can have a better grip.

Yuuri mumbles something into his shoulder, but it's in Japanese and Victor has no way of knowing what it could mean. It must be something good, though, because he nuzzles his cheek into the soft wool and sighs, eyes fluttering closed and a sweet, small smile on his lips.

"I understand," Victor says, keeping his voice light so he doesn't disturb the sleeping beauty in his arms. "But what I don't understand is why you were gone so long. You know how cutthroat some of these sponsors and officials can be, and you just left him there to his own devices without checking in even once?"

Celestino makes a face, somewhere between a grimace and a frown. "It wasn't the best idea, no. I can admit that. But Yuuri's got a bit of a... a stalker problem, of a sort. There's a face that usually shows up when Yuuri least needs him around. He didn't need that on top of everything that's happened, so when I heard that security was being upped because a couple of unregistered people snuck in, I had to take action."

The warmth in Victor's chest from the evening's events goes cold, his brow knitting together at the seriousness in Celestino's admission. "Can't anything be done?"

"No. That's the worst part of the whole mess," Celestino growls, running his hand over his hair. "My hands are tied legally, and Yuuri doesn't want to draw too much attention to it so he just... ignores him as much as he can."

Well. That certainly explains why Yuuri has such a cool, reserved reputation that seems out of character compared to the lively, passionate man Victor's seen tonight. But really, who has the kind of time to be going to Yuuri's competitions for the sole purpose of upsetting him?

The walk to the elevator is otherwise uneventful, aside from an elderly couple who don't recognize any of the three of them and comment instead on how lovely he and Yuuri look together. Celestino snorts under his breath, clearly seeing where they got the idea they're coming back from something else. With Victor visibly in his three-piece suit and Yuuri swathed in white and blushing pink, there really aren't many other things it could be.

Victor, who hasn't had a proper date in years despite the tabloids and the rumors always circulating around, finds himself less adverse to the idea than he'd expect. Sure, he barely knows Yuuri and one night of dancing doesn't make a relationship, but he can't deny there's something here that might actually be worth pursuing.

Wait. No. Dammit, Chris was _just_ mocking him earlier for being so drawn in by Yuuri's charms after Victor had done the same to him over his "ballet boy" who was at least partially responsible for Chris' pulled groin muscle years ago, never mind they're apparently the same person. He's a grown man with an interest, not a hopeless teenager who mistakes fooling around for true love.

He follows Celestino to Yuuri's room when the elevator opens to the right floor, ignoring the burn in his arms from supporting another man's weight for so long. Yuuri seems to have actually drifted off, dark lashes fanned over the crests of his soft cheeks and breathing slow and steady from his barely-parted lips. And after he'd spent the night dancing and _winning_ against the other finalists as he worked his way up to Victor, surely he deserves the rest, doesn't he?

At the door, Celestino pauses and starts to dig through Yuuri's jacket's pockets. When he turns up empty, his face drops and he tilts his chin up to stare at the ceiling with a low-muttered prayer before turning to Victor and giving the bed linen a small tug.

Victor blinks. "You think it's in his pants pocket?"

"It has to be, or I'm going to have to head back down to get a spare keycard," Celestino huffs. "You're going to have to set him down to check."

Before Victor can hesitate too long and earn more of Celestino's suspicion, Yuuri stirs and starts to shift in Victor's arms. He's forced to bounce Yuuri a little to readjust his hold, but as he does it there's a thwump of something hitting the floor next to him. Victor turns at the waist to have a better look, only to feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end at Celestino's harrumph and pointed throat clearing.

"What did I just say downstairs?" Celestino reminds him with a scowl almost worthy of Yakov. Considering he does it a lot less, it's more effective.

Despite knowing he's innocent, Victor feels his face warm. "I had nothing to do with that. I swear it."

That, of course, being Yuuri's pants finally slipping off like they've been threatening to for the past five minutes. Yuuri slurs something else into Victor's shoulder and sighs, a moue slowly bending his lips. Victor is painfully aware of the fact Yuuri's now in nothing but his dress shirt, his underwear, and an over-starched bed linen, curled up in his arms and radiating contentment.

Thankfully, the envelope containing the room's keycard peeps out of a rumpled pocket despite all the activity Yuuri's been through tonight. Celestino sweeps it up along with the pants and pops it into the reader. It beeps, flashing from red to green with a pop, and Celestino twists the knob and pushes the door open.

It's interesting, the way Yuuri has his hotel room set up. His luggage sits in the corner, propped open with fresh clothes folded tight and a mesh bag containing his laundry in a separate compartment. His shoes are in the open nook formed by the closet next to the door, his trunk containing his skating gear tucked further into it to stay out of sight. His phone sits on his nightstand screen-down, still attached to the charging cable, the bright blue case littered with adorably drawn poodles making his heart ache for his own back in Saint-Petersburg. Does Yuuri like dogs, too? Does he have his own waiting for him at home?

Celestino sighs as he goes to the desk and starts to air out Yuuri's pants and jacket, carefully readjusting them so they lie on their pressed folds and laying them over the pulled-out chair. Victor stands near the bed, unsure if he should just lay Yuuri down and let Celestino take it from here or help properly.

As Celestino reaches over to pull Yuuri's tie from its place around Yuuri's crown, Yuuri stirs again and whines, low and muffled against Victor's lapel, "Nooo, my medal..."

"I'm just putting it away, Yuuri," Celestino answers him, exasperated but still fond judging by his expression. "You get your sleep. You've had a long week."

He turns to pull at the tucked-in corners of the bed's paisley quilt and linens, creating an opening for Victor to finally put Yuuri down. He gives Victor another stern look and points to the bed, then the door in an obvious expectation that Victor will just drop Yuuri off and go back to minding his own business.

Victor sighs, feeling a small part of him wilt as Celestino walks off. He's stalled long enough, it seems. This is where he and Yuuri part ways.

"Yuuri," he tries, voice low. If he has to wake him enough to crawl into bed, he may as well do it gently so it's easier for him to drift off again. "Come on, now. Winners deserve to sleep properly, not like this."

"Comfy," Yuuri mumbles, brow knitting together. He curls up tighter in Victor's arms, the movement rolling him to press deeper against Victor's chest. "Stay, Victor. Please stay?"

Victor groans in the back of his throat, glancing warily towards Celestino. "Your coach is unhappy about this as it is, Yuuri. Besides, you promised to meet me at Worlds. Remember?"

Yuuri, still half-asleep, hums and slowly uncurls himself. The bed linen falls loose and open, and Victor has to keep his eyes trained on Yuuri's face to keep himself distracted from the obvious dark sash of fabric that makes up his underwear. "...Worlds. Huh..."

"Worlds," Victor repeats, voice soft. He's not sure who he's reassuring more, but he finds himself not caring.

He bends to set Yuuri down, carefully pulling the bed linen from under him and helping his legs tuck into the still-closed pocket of the spreads. As Victor rolls up the linen to toss at the end of the bed, a hand reaches for his jacket hem and he looks back down. Something in his chest creaks as it unfurls, the sight of Yuuri's dark hair fanning over the white pillowcase and a single finger and thumb pinching loosely at his clothes to maintain one last thread of contact, the faintest sliver of a dark, sleepy eye peering up at him imploringly.

Victor bends to one knee before he realizes it, cradling Yuuri's hand between both of his. The quilt covering his body properly, Yuuri looks smaller than he did in Victor's arms and infinitely smaller than the bright, beautiful star he'd been downstairs in the banquet hall. He doesn't care if Celestino gets annoyed at him for this. He's pissed off Yakov for much, much less.

"I'll find you," Victor promises, hoping he can fully convey just how much he means this to Yuuri while he's adrift between the waking world and slumber. "Don't ever doubt that. All I ask is that you look for me, too."

Yuuri breathes a quiet huff of a laugh, his visible eye warming. "Silly Victor. I always look for you."

The thing in his chest stretches wider, pressing against his lungs. He smiles through it, unconsciously rubbing his thumb across the soft skin over Yuuri's knuckles.

"All right, Romeo, you've done your part." Celestino's voice cuts in, dousing Victor in a cold he should know better by now. "Get back to Yakov before he starts yelling at _me_ for this. I'm going to be getting enough of an earful from at least one of Yuuri's sponsors as it is."

And just like that, Victor is unceremoniously cast out and shooed into the hall. He stares at Yuuri's closed door, stunned and unsure of what to do or where to go.

* * *

****

**_Saint-Petersburg, Russia - January 2016_ **

"You're making that face again."

Victor, an ever-flowing font of maturity, bats his eyes with the sweetness of a wide-eyed babe.

Georgiy huffs at him, pursing his mouth and tugging his laces tight. "Do you think you can fool me, Vitya? I know how you are. What has you so riled up these past few weeks?"

He has fooled Georgiy _plenty_ over the years, Victor thinks dryly. In fact, Georgiy is notoriously easy to tease and trick. Victor lost count of how many times Yakov's given him an earful for picking on Georgiy when all he was doing was playing a few harmless pranks. It's not his fault Georgiy tends to have an overactive imagination, not then and certainly not now.

It's a pity that Georgiy is probably the one person here who won't laugh at Victor's predicament, if he deigns to share it with him. But Georgiy is not known for tucking his heart safely away, guarding it carefully from a world that would tear it to shreds at the first sign of weakness. For now, the tiny creature in his chest will curl and warm him with a low flame, gossamer wings protecting it from flickering out prematurely.

Victor has never known this kind of fire in his blood, after all. It's no wonder Georgiy seeks it out the way he does.

It _is_ good to be home after a month in Sochi, Victor won't deny that. He's missed the familiar locker rooms and halls of Yubilenyy, the dance studios and the rink, the knowledge of what surrounds the facility and the assurance his own apartment with his own private space is only two and a half kilometers away. Having Maccachin back so there's _someone_ to greet him when he comes home from practice keeps the cold at bay, even if he knows his family took good care of his old man of a poodle while he was away.

But this is simply slipping back into the same old routines and encountering the same old people, all while something in Victor has intrinsically changed. He can't help but ask himself if he's really happy with all of this like he's believed for so many years, because why would he not be? He gets to see the world. He does something he loves for a living. He gets to be as ridiculous and dramatic as he wants because it's all part and parcel with this career, even if Victor's gotten less and less adventurous over the years. Yes, there are downsides, but they're reasonable ones. The business side of skating, the parts of it that are inevitably tied to politics and shady deals, those are restricted to banquets and meetings Victor purposely renegotiates to public places so they can't pull their usual underhanded tricks of the trade. If it nets him the reputation of being a playboy due to the companies sending attractive young professionals and stately older ones because they think he can be distracted by a pretty face, then so be it.

Can he give all this up because an entirely different pretty face looked up at him with adoring doe-eyes and asked so sweetly for Victor to train him? Victor doubts that Yakov would let him use this rink if he were to approach him about the idea. The last time someone suggested Victor take up coaching, the old man laughed hard enough to nearly throw out his back.

(It was Aliona, who was sick of him indulging her Novices when she wasn't looking. Surely Victor's not that bad an influence, right?)

" _What the hell_!?"

Yuriy's volume is louder than it usually is this time of morning. Victor wonders what that could mean.

Before he can properly brace himself, there's a small blond stomping towards him, bristling and fuming. Victor blinks, confused, as Yuriy stops in front of him with a dark glower and an almost cartoonish-looking frown for how strongly he's trying to look tougher than he actually is.

Instead, all Victor gets is a finger jabbed in his face and a sourly spat, "This is _your_ fault somehow, old man. You'd better fix it fast!" before Yuriy turns on his heel and storms off for a different bench.

Georgiy glances between them, looking even more confused than Victor feels.

"...You don't know why he's so upset either, I take it."

"Not a bit," Victor admits.

It isn't until later, when Victor finally checks his newsfeed, that Victor understands Yuriy's anger.

' _Yuuri Katsuki Unable to Shake Devastating Loss at Grand Prix Finals_ ', says the headlines, sensationalizing the images of Yuuri's falls and spouting wild theories about Yuuri's health and well-being. No one knows anything. There are no confirmations, no denials, no _statements_ from anyone who works with Yuuri. All that's said is that he dropped in national ranking and that he's been pulled out of competitions until further notice.

Victor's heart sinks, the ache in his chest lashing out in furious disbelief.

How does a man who danced his way through five other people and still had the grace and energy to sweep Victor clean off his feet manage to fall so far? Is it unfair judging? Sabotage? Where is Celestino in all this? Isn't he supposed to be shielding Yuuri from the worst of this? Who is there protecting Yuuri when he needs it most?

He doesn't know Yuuri well. Victor is aware of this. But from what he does know, from what he saw at Sochi, from what fragments of memories that exist in pictures and videos taken at the banquet, Victor _does_ know this: Yuuri is not the sort of person who just _gives up_. Something is wrong. Something _has_ to be wrong.

But there's nothing Victor can do from here. All he can do is be patient and have faith. He'll see Yuuri again soon enough. They promised to meet again at the World Championships. He'll know then, he'll get to see for himself instead of trusting news sources whose top priority is traffic and the income it generates.

The end of March can't come soon enough.

* * *

Once, years ago, Victor was in love.

Or, at the very least, an approximation of love only a teenager really knows. Grown as he is now, the whole thing is almost laughable for how seriously he took what amounted to a three-week relationship. The so-called honeymoon period lasted all of a week and a half, and that was still pushing it -- hardly worth calling it a relationship at all, really.

Johannes was a preparatory school student, fresh into an economics program. Victor can't begin to recall how they met aside from maybe a chance meeting while he was out and about avoiding Yakov's lectures during either a competition or an ice show, but they'd hit it off decently well and Victor saw no harm in accepting a cute boy's request to have lunch together. Johannes hadn't known who Victor was and Victor never bothered to tell him because he didn't see how someone _couldn't_ know about him. It's a miracle that they'd gotten through that first date with few hiccups aside from the weird looks Johannes gave Victor when he begrudgingly turned down dessert and everything high in carbs and sugar to avoid a bigger lecture when he returned to the hotel.

Not that it mattered -- not long after they left the café, they hid in a park to fool around and Victor spent the better part of ten minutes picking all the twigs and leaves out of his hair afterward. Johannes called him pretty but kind of dumb. Victor spent the next two weeks believing it after they exchanged phone numbers and emails. After all, Johannes was the one who was in a special school to help him land a good job when he graduated. Victor was just a figure skater, even if he was one of the best in the world and among the youngest to have that honor.

After Yakov finally got the reason why Victor was acting more vapid and careless during practice, he'd raged and demanded that Victor break it off with Johannes. He didn't need some bookworm loser telling his star skater who had a better ear for music than ninety-percent of the active Seniors and an innate understanding of his body that Yakov didn't usually see in Victor's age group that he was an idiot _just_ because he happened to have good looks, too. There was about a week's worth of back-and-forth that followed, Victor growing increasingly annoyed at the boy who was getting less and less cute the more he defended his initial stance that people like Victor just weren't _smart_ like he was. That he was doing Victor a favor by letting him know this early on.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, though, it had ended... _mostly_ amicably. The fighting cleared Victor's head fast and apparently had the same effect on Johannes. Both mutually agreed this was a waste of time and went their separate ways, little worse for wear than some stung pride.

Of course, this had led to one of Johannes' roommates realizing who Victor was, freaking out at the poor guy for throwing away a good thing, and attempting to mend their dead relationship on his behalf, but that quickly got stamped down. Victor was told in no uncertain terms to not give out his contact information unless the other party had been approved of by both his mother and Yakov to avoid more trouble. Rather than encourage him to be more mindful of who he dated, he just opted to keep his dalliances casual, ignoring Georgiy's constant side-eyeing and superiority complex over the fact he could actually maintain relationships. What was the point in making a commitment, if it was going to last for less than a month?

His principle has been this, plain and simple: if he ever fell in love, he'd know. That's how it worked out for his parents, who are still happily married after thirty years. That's how it worked out for Yakov and Lilia, even if they'd ultimately parted ways due to the many different strains their careers put on their marriage.

He doesn't really know if he can call the tiny creature that's made its home in his ribcage _love_ , but at the very least it's something Victor can't see himself letting go of so easily.

He could say the same for the ice, for all the joys and sorrows it's brought him. No matter how angry or upset he gets, he always finds himself returning to the rink with his skates. It's always given him the chance to reinvent himself, to be someone new and exciting for the world to adore as much as the last version of him. The ice may never love him back, but it's a small price to pay for the freedom the ice grants him instead.

But he'd enjoyed the dancing at the banquet, one of the very rare times he's done it off the ice that had nothing to do with choreography or training. He'd enjoyed the energy, the fire, the excitement as everyone cheered for their favorite to win the otherwise silly dance battles. He'd enjoyed finally getting his turn with the star of the night, already flushed red with exertion and the alcohol he'd drunk before Yuriy tried to pick a fight with him but still willing to keep going. He'd enjoyed the flash in Yuuri's dark eyes as he pivoted and stole the lead from Victor, easily catching him in a low dip despite the way Victor's heart dropped when he was pulled off-balance. He'd enjoyed the laughter, the revelry, the way he'd felt perfectly safe in Yuuri's arms and didn't mind being the one to follow for once.

He'd enjoyed all of this, and now it seems the world is making sure he only gets it for a single night.

If that single night's all he's going to be allowed, then Victor is going to immortalize it -- even if he has to drive one of his favorite composers he commissions up the wall with his demands to make it absolutely perfect. He wants to be able to relive that night every time he hears this piece, down to the moment he'd been pushed out and away.

At the very least, he'll finally be allowed to admit all the things he kept stamped down for propriety's sake. Good God, how does anyone expect him to function when fate throws a beautiful man in his arms who'd been perfectly happy to strip down and sway his hips like that for him?

* * *

**_Europeans 2016 - Stockholm, Sweden_ **

Chris is no help, when Victor asks him about Yuuri. This is in spite of the fact Chris is the one who knew Yuuri back in Juniors, who has memories of him being a young teenager with large square glasses and a heavier accent because he was so unused to speaking English. Who, by all means considering their history, knows damn well how it feels to be so far away without many chances to bridge the distance and should be far more sympathetic than he is.

"Don't take it personally," Chris says blithely, waving off Victor's concerns. "You'll see him again if you tune into Four Continents next month. Yuuri's stubborn. He won't let a little mishap like the GPF and nationals keep him down."

Victor groans and drops onto Chris' bed, a hand raising to massage his temples. "I know why I have to keep my personal contact information quiet, and I can only assume he has the same rules in effect. But why does it have to be this difficult?"

"You're really not missing much," Chris drawls, turning to face him with a raised brow. "Though I have to admit, I didn't think Yuuri was actually your type."

Victor blinks. He sits up slowly, careful to not let Chris read the immediate sting of offense that lanced through him at that.

"Oh?" He asks, keeping his tone light, "I have a type? I didn't notice."

Chris barks a dry laugh. "Victor, you're always seen with these drop-dead gorgeous, successful people. Even at the banquet in Sochi before Yuuri stole the show, you had several good-looking reps and liaisons crowding you to get you to look their way. No offense to Yuuri, but he's perfectly happy flying under the radar and doesn't really bother making the most of his looks. You might like him and I don't blame you, but he doesn't fit your image."

Of all the people Victor considers close enough to be trustworthy, he hadn't expected Chris to fall hook, line, and sinker for the media nonsense about his supposed promiscuity. Victor's done nothing more than dinner with the vast majority of these people, multiple dinners and occasionally lunch with the few who respect his boundaries and are eager to work with someone who can bring more to the table than just a pretty face. And now he's hearing that one of his few friends actually believes there's seeds of truth in those carefully crafted lies? That he's better off just settling for someone like Johannes, who thought his only good trait was being _attractive_ , because it fits his image better?

"Does Matthieu mind you talking like that?" Victor retorts, smiling crisply. "Or does he still have issues with your image and how he fits into it?"

Chris freezes, eyes popping wide and mouth just barely dropping open. The shock lasts for all of a few seconds, but soon enough snaps his jaw tight and narrows his eyes at Victor in all too easy-to-read offense.

It's a bit of a low blow, Victor will admit. Chris gets unsettled by all the push for Matthieu and his partner Rosario to publically get together since so many people want to see what they think is true love out on the ice. Most don't know Rosario is engaged to a lovely lady who Chris himself introduced her to since she's a coworker of his parents. Most definitely don't know how Chris and Matthieu have been in an odd back-and-forth over the past couple of years, Chris finally old enough to be taken seriously by the ice dancer five years his senior and Matthieu wanting to stay out of all the over-sexualized drama that surrounds Chris' public persona. With Matthieu and Rosario retiring this year, the whole issue _should_ be resolving itself in short order. Apparently, it's not.

In Victor's defense, Chris started it. He really should know better than to prod at a weak point Victor's _let_ him see.

"...Fine. I deserved that," Chris huffs after a moment, pouting. "But seriously, Victor. Yuuri's a good guy and if you do get together, I'll be very happy for the both of you. But I'm speaking from experience when I say it won't be easy. He's not usually like he was at the banquet -- I don't know _what_ got into him. I don't want you getting your hopes up over someone you can't have."

"He promised me Worlds," Victor insists, mouth thinning. "I have to trust he'll make his own way there. He has the skill; you saw that yourself."

Chris scoffs, turning to look out the window.

"If only skill was good enough in our world," he says, dour.

Victor frowns, opening his mouth to question further, but there's a wail outside the door and harsh pounding. He and Chris jump, startled, and look at each other in confusion.

"Is that... Georgiy Popovich?" Chris asks, bewildered. "Why is he knocking on _my_ door?"

"I don't know?" Victor pushes himself off the bed and unlatches both locks, turning the knob to peer out the crack. "Gosha, what in the world--?"

"She left me for _another man_!"

Georgiy has never been a pretty crier. If anything, he's a very messy one who Victor has spent years avoiding to preserve his shirts and because he's only ever made things worse. But Victor is the closest thing he has to a friend here, and from the sound of things he's in desperate need of one.

Unfortunately, things don't get better. Georgiy's (apparently) secret longtime girlfriend, one of Coach Varvara from Moscow's ice dancers, has been ghosting him for the better part of three months and he'd seen her on a coffee date with a member of her coach's medical staff. Georgiy's phone clearly shows she'd broken up with him then and he hadn't taken the hint. Mila's girlfriend on the hockey team pitches a giant fit about seeing pictures of her as cuddled up to Sara as she usually is and publically demands she either apologizes and stops talking to Sara or they're through, and Mila quickly and firmly chooses her friend who _didn't_ give her an ultimatum. Thankfully, she goes and cries to her other friends instead of asking Victor.

All around him there's nothing but heartache, and truth be told Victor contributes in his own way as he steps onto the ice for the free skate and finds himself praying to God for the strength to keep his faith in Yuuri alive.

 _Stay close to me_ , he translates in his head as he reaches out, the phantom touch of Yuuri's hand in his that night in his hotel room grazing his fingers as he falls further out of reach. _I'm so scared of losing you._

It wins him gold. Again.

Victor is really starting to get sick of gold.

* * *

**_Saint-Petersburg - February 2016_ **

Since Yuriy has long since been outed as a fan of Yuuri's, Victor attempts to ask him if he wants to watch Four Continents together. It's mostly to avoid Yakov getting suspicious of his interest, but Mila has been taking over the gym with a dark glint in her eye and Georgiy has been dragging uncomfortable amounts of dried herbs and flowers in his sports bag since their public break-ups. Even Irina, their other Ladies' Singles skater, and the Novice and Junior groups have been avoiding them.

Yuriy sputters, going red, and spits a little too violently that he has better things to do than waste his time on "skaters who can't even half-ass a win against a bunch of bratty teenagers". Someone is clearly still sour about Yuuri's drop in his national ranking after losing a dance-battle to him.

Sighing, Victor considers inviting his family over to watch instead and simply enduring the raised eyebrows from his grandmother. Worst she'll do is tell Lilia over the phone, and Lilia is still prickly enough towards Yakov that she won't tell him unless she thinks it's a more serious issue. His _mother_ , on the other hand...

Maccachin noses his hand, whining as he looks over his notes for next season's pieces. Victor blinks, looking down at his sweet old dog, and huffs a small laugh as he scratches Maccachin behind his ears.

"Do you think they'll laugh at me?" he asks Maccachin, as if the poodle will answer him. Maccachin's ear twitches. "I mean, Papka still gets teased for making a fool of himself in front of Mamochka and then hiding from her for half a year. This isn't the same, though. Right?"

He gets a low woof and a nuzzle, Maccachin's tail thumping against the couch cushions.

In the end, he does invite them but only his mother comes. His grandmother's hands are acting up with the bitter cold of winter, and it isn't safe to leave her by herself no matter how stubbornly she insists she can handle a few hours on her own. His mother, despite her own problems with her knee, can safely rest in the comfort of Victor's apartment if the cold gets too much.

"I'm surprised you're watching this," his mother says as he returns to his living room with a spare blanket for her lap. "You've never shown much interest for fear of accidentally copying someone."

Victor shrugs half-heartedly, nudging Maccachin towards the middle of the couch as he reclaims his seat. "I'm in the twilight years of my career," he says instead of admitting he's really watching for one particular person. "I think I can let myself enjoy seeing what the rest of the world offers."

The list for the Men's Singles goes up on screen. Victor leans forward, brow furrowing, only for his stomach to drop when he notices there are no flags for Japan on the board. Yuuri's... not at Four Continents? Wasn't he supposed to be, so he can make up for what happened at the Grand Prix Finals and All-Japan?

He hears his mother heave a heavy sigh. "I was afraid of that. Yuuri Katsuki is such a lovely skater, but the JSF can be very strict about public appearances. Failing twice so close together must've been too much."

For a brief moment Victor is convinced his mother can read his mind -- it would not be the first time he's suspected such a thing -- but she continues, shaking her head, "I was really hoping to see if he'd worked out the kinks in his free skate, too. You can tell he was trained by Minako Okukawa, or at least was inspired by her. I do wonder what shook him up so much right before the Grand Prix Finals. Vityen'ka, did you talk to him? He looked so pale in every interview..."

Victor swallows. He still doesn't know what was wrong with Yuuri that cost him a higher placing, just that it had burnt off with the fire he'd shown during the banquet. "I didn't have the time to ask."

"Of course not," his mother huffs. "Yasha is so pushy sometimes! I understand he has to juggle four or five of you every time there's a major competition, but that's why he should get another assistant coach. I still don't see why he won't ask you to help with the Juniors, at least. They won't affect your competition schedule, and the children at the rink adore you."

"Yakov doesn't want me giving them bad habits," Victor repeats, a faint smile on his lips. His mother titters into her hand. "One of me is bad enough for his blood pressure, he says."

"So is trying to handle four or five different skaters." She reaches down to rub Maccachin's flank, smiling when the old dog wags his tail in response.

" _\--and it seems Yuuri Katsuki has pulled out for personal reasons, according to JSF officials. Our thoughts and prayers are with him, as he's always been a crowd favorite--_ "

"Mamochka?" His mother hums, still petting Maccachin absently. "Do you really think I'd make a good coach?"

His mother stays quiet for a moment, thoughtfully considering Victor's words. Then, plainly, "I think you could learn to be, yes. You are very caring, yasochka, and you know exactly how to win. But you do so much of this without thinking, and you have never been very patient with others. You and your grandmother are the same, in that respect."

It's not a glowing review, but it's an honest one. Victor can appreciate that.

* * *

**_World Championships 2016 - Yoyogi, Japan_ **

The cherry trees lining the streets are flush with delicate pink flowers. The crowds here are slightly more organized than they generally are in other countries, but there still seems to be an element of chaos as people try to elbow and shove their way to the dividers for an unblocked view of the skaters coming into the venue to practice. There are several familiar faces among the participants, naturally: Chris, Cao Bin, the Crispino twins, Leroy number... four, is it? But like the list at Four Continents, there is only a tiny speckling of Japanese flags on the boards and only one of them is associated with a male skater.

It's not Yuuri. It's just another ice dancer, someone Victor is very unlikely to see unless he goes out of his way to meet them.

Victor doesn't understand. Yuuri was supposed to be here. They'd promised to meet here no matter what. Is he only showing up for the exhibition? Would the JSF really shoot themselves in the foot like this by not having the literal face of figure skating in their country present at the biggest competition of the season?

He can't stand here being idle any longer. Ignoring Yakov's yells to stick with the group since none of them know Japanese, he takes the different names with Japanese flags and mentally goes through the schedule. Ladies' Singles has Yuki Satou and Erika Hasegawa, their pictures on the JSF's website showing a dainty-looking girl with a chin-length black bob and a chestnut-haired young woman with a pixie cut respectively. Ice Dance has Tasuke Miyauchi and Natsumi Shishiba, their picture showing the two of them as such polar opposites Victor wonders how they get along. Just these four skaters to ask and work with -- will any of them even know what's happened to Yuuri?

"Huh?" Yuki Satou gawks when he approaches her chatting with Erika Hasegawa. "No, Yuuri-kun's been super quiet since All-Japan. I haven't heard from him at all."

"I mean," Erika Hasegawa says, pursing her lips in thought, "I guess the imp might know? But I doubt he'd tell you. Yuuri-kun should be fine, though. He usually is. Why do you ask?"

He wonders how much he should tell them. So much of it is so personal that Victor doesn't even feel comfortable telling the people he's closest to.

"I promised I'd help him," comes from his mouth more easily than he thought it would. The two women stare, wide-eyed. He feels himself falter and defaults to his usual light flirtiness, the charm falling into place with a breezy smile and a pointed wink. "You'll keep it secret, won't you? It won't be much of a surprise if you don't."

"N-no! Of course we won't! Yuuri-kun would never forgive us if we did!"

"Oh man, I want to see Yuuri-kun's face when he realizes that _Victor Nikiforov_ is looking for him...!"

The two women chatter amongst themselves, excited on Yuuri's behalf. Victor watches them with a heaviness settling in his chest, folding back into itself.

Just because the other Singles skaters don't know where Yuuri is, it doesn't mean it's completely hopeless. But he's not sure if he'll be able to find the ice dancers, or if they'll be any more helpful.

He has to try. Victor won't know unless he tries.

Avoiding as many cameras as he can, Victor braves the crowd again. He looks for the telltale blue-and-black JSF jackets, especially as he glances around and spies Chris with Matthieu and Rosario, as well as Coach Varvara's sour face as she scolds the brunette woman that must be Georgiy's ex. He's in the right area; now all he needs to do is find the right people.

Chris raises a brow at him when he notices him lingering, looking distinctly unimpressed. "Really, Victor? You're so desperate that you're resorting to begging for information?"

"It's better than nothing," Victor snips back, not letting the smile on his face fall. "Have any of you seen them, by the way? The Japanese team?"

Matthieu glances between them, looking equally unimpressed. It's no wonder he and Chris keep circling each other.

Rosario answers instead, pointing to a different cluster of people further into the halls. "If you're looking for Miyauchi and Shishiba, they're down that way with their coach. Why are you asking, anyway?"

"Because he's a thirsty bastard who got a taste of sweet Japanese--"

" _Chris_ ," Matthieu hisses, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I swear, can you not? For _once_ in your life?"

"Excuse me?" Chris' face pinches in offense. "Oh, I am _so_ sorry. You know how _childish_ I am."

Rosario groans and stands. "I'm taking Victor over there to find them so you two can have your lover's spat in privacy. Kiss and make up before I get back, because I'm not dealing with this on the last competition of my career."

"Wait, Rose--!"

"Rosie, don't just--!"

Victor _would_ feel bad about abandoning Chris, but honestly Chris has been strangely prickly about this whole thing with Yuuri. He can have a say in Victor's relationship problems once he's sorted out his own.

Rosario seems to be of the same mind, and she rolls her eyes as she gestures for Victor to follow her. "Don't worry about it. It's the same old stuff you've probably heard from Chris. I just don't want Matthieu sulking about it when we need to be focusing."

"He has complained about it at length to me," Victor admits blithely. Rosario snorts.

The blue catches his eye first, and he goes still before straightening the fall of his jacket and stepping towards it. The man looks around Victor's age, half paying attention to a screen as he tips back a bottle of water. The lanyard around his neck confirms it, the Japanese flag gleaming in the ID and the JSF logo on its opposite side.

"Tasuke Miyauchi?"

"Hm?" The man blinks, bored at first before he pauses, squints, and snaps himself straight up in recognition. "Whoa. Seriously? Victor Nikiforov, here?"

It's hard to tell from Miyauchi's disbelieving tone if he's a fan or not. Either way, Victor smiles his usual smile and cants his head.

"Hi," Victor greets. "I was curious about something. If you don't mind sharing what you know?"

Miyauchi stares at him, looking increasingly skeptical. "Sure?"

This is it. Victor only has this one shot left, one last chance to know what's going on. "Have you heard from Yuuri Katsuki lately? We were supposed to--"

"What the _hell_ do you want with Yuuri, Nikiforov?"

Victor falters, stunned as Miyauchi turns on him with blazing eyes. His fist seizes tight, crushing the bottle in his hand and spilling water onto the floor.

Miyauchi's coach gapes. "Tasuke-kun!"

"Honestly, Tasuke," Natsumi Shishiba groans, looking unimpressed. "Don't embarrass yourself or me."

"Hey!" Miyauchi bristles. He snaps something in his mother tongue at her, which she lashes back at with equal annoyance. Eventually, he throws his hands up, spilling more water. "Look, it makes sense! Yuuri was fine before the GPF, but he wasn't after it! _Something_ happened, and he ended up getting punished for it!"

Shishiba rolls her eyes and deadpans another response in Japanese. Miyauchi fumes more, but he's looking less intimidating and more petulant by the second.

Their coach looks faint as he reaches up to gingerly pry the crumpled water bottle from Miyauchi's hand. "O-oh dear me... I'll, um. I'll get you a new one, Tasuke-kun. Please hold on."

"Huh?" Miyauchi blinks again, then grins sheepishly at his coach as he drops the water bottle into his hands. "Oh. Sorry?"

"You're such a pain," Shishiba huffs.

"He started it," Miyauchi grumbles, shooting Victor a look.

Victor quirks a brow. "I started nothing. All I wanted to know was if you knew where Yuuri was and how to get in contact with him."

"Not here, obviously." Miyauchi jabs a finger at Victor's chest, still scowling. "So stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. If you aren't planning on committing to it a thousand percent, you're better off forgetting all about Yuuri right now!"

Victor blinks down at him, stunned. Before he can respond, Shishiba clamps a firm hand on Miyauchi's shoulder and drags him back. Her expression is shuttered but sharp, not unlike Lilia's can be in one of her moods.

"Tasuke," Shishiba says, fixing her steely stare on her partner first and foremost. She continues talking in Japanese, her words souring her partner's face. He hears Yuuri's name briefly, and his lips thin as the clamp around his chest tightens. They've both proven they're competent in English, so her insistence on speaking their native tongue comes off as intentional.

"Demo, Nacchan--!" comes from Miyauchi, but Shishiba's look sharpens to a glare and Miyauchi goes petulantly silent.

Finally, Shishiba turns to Victor with the same steely look as before, brow furrowed and mouth downturned and suspicious. "However, he's right. Don't expect getting in contact with Katsuki Yuuri to be simple, even for you."

With that, she turns and follows the hall down to where their coach went, pausing only to smack Miyauchi across the back of his head and shoot him another exasperated look. He makes a face at her and quickly ducks, the pull of a grin at his mouth as she swats him a second time for good measure. Despite their opposite natures, they seem to get along surprisingly well. Perhaps this is why they've chosen to partner up, even in spite of the obstacles in their way.

"I'm dead serious, you know," Miyauchi says, turning back to meet Victor's eyes. He's less wild than a moment ago, but there's still the warning glint of the earlier fire bright in his eyes. "I've known that kid since he was fourteen. And I know what people say about you. He's suffered enough humiliation, Nikiforov. Do _not_ make it worse for him."

...Well. Apparently, Victor's found Yuuri's unofficial older brother. And he still doesn't know anything about where Yuuri is _now_.

As he watches Miyauchi follow his partner down the hall, Victor feels the fire in him fizzle and pop. The cold's creeping back in, and the world seems darker and duller for it. The only people he could think of that would have any idea what happened to Yuuri have told him nothing, either because they themselves don't know or because they don't trust Victor for whatever reason. Is this really the end of it all? Is that one song he's commissioned and those handful of pictures all he's ever going to have of that night?

"Oh, wow. Yuuri always said Miyauchi was wild, but I never thought I'd see it!"

Victor blinks, turning to look over his shoulder to a smaller boy with an open-book countenance and a sunny smile. He has his phone out and his thumbs are flying across the screen, making the blond-and-white hamster on its green phone case bounce.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Victor asks, trying not to get his hopes up again. He can only get them dashed so many times in one day. "You know Yuuri?"

The boy stops, looks up at Victor with raised eyebrows that seem overly judgmental, then reaches for the lanyard around his neck and flashes the ID with Thailand's flag at him. The name _Phichit Chulanont_ is in big print. "I'll give you a pass on that because this is my first time at Worlds so we've _clearly_ never met before. Also because wow, have you really been asking about Yuuri all morning?" He pauses again before squinting at Victor, the friendliness of his features gone in an instant. "You _do_ mean Yuuri Katsuki, right? Japanese? Pretty-boy? Blue poodle phone case if he ever had that out, because Ciao-Ciao has to take his phone away from him sometimes?"

Victor had almost forgotten about the phone case, but his memory flashes back bright to the adorable spot of color in Yuuri's otherwise drab hotel room. "Yes! Have you seen him? Is he here?"

"Hold on a sec, will you?" Victor pauses just long enough for Phichit to hop in next to him and raise his phone up, camera at the ready. Victor feels himself smile on reflex just before the camera shutter sounds. "Great! Lemme just tag this and post it..."

"Phichit," Victor tries again, some of his desperation starting to leak through. The Thai boy blinks and looks up at him. "Please. If you know anything about where Yuuri is, let me know now."

Phichit hums, something dimming the sunniness of his expression. "Oh. Yeah. Yuuri dropped Ciao-Ciao after the GPF and left to finish university before going home. All without any warning, too."

Yuuri was without a coach? Yuuri was in _university_ while skating full-time?

"Yuuri went home?"

"Yeah!" Phichit's smile twitches up at the corners, but he doesn't look all that much happier. "To Hasetsu, down in Kyushu."

* * *

**_Saint-Petersburg, Russia - Early April 2016_ **

Another gold medal smothers the ember in his chest. The tiny creature that made its home in it has been starved back into hibernation.

He supposes he should be glad to at least get some closure. Even if he wishes that he'd been told directly that Yuuri intended to quietly retire under everyone's noses, at least he knows that he hadn't completely dreamed up that night in Sochi.

But Yuuri had seemed so endearingly honest when he asked Victor to coach him. Had he changed his mind after his crash-and-burn at All-Japan? Or was it just the ramblings of man who'd had a little too much alcohol and adrenaline running through his veins?

...Or, worse still, does this have to do with that stalker-like person Celestino had mentioned back at Sochi?

It's too early for him to really need this, but Victor finds himself presenting the first of his two choices for an SP to Yakov not a day after they return from Yoyogi. Yakov frowns at him, as if he's searching for something in Victor's tired expression, then tells him to make up his mind before bothering him with more work. It's the closest Yakov ever gets to ordering him to get some proper rest, because he knows better than to think Victor will listen if _told_ to do so.

So Victor takes advantage of his open access to the rink, pressing kisses into Maccachin's soft crown before jogging to the facility and using the earliest and latest hours of free ice time to carve a routine out of what's left of his short-lived fever dream. Perhaps he'd been foolish to think it could even be considered love. If it was, surely it would have gone both ways, wouldn't it?

Yuuri had said that he always looked for Victor -- and yet, when Victor knew to look for him, he wasn't there.

Would it be too cruel to himself to use the second arrangement? Something added as a reminder of the sweet taste of hope and a glimpse of a different future? Or was he torturing himself more by drowning in the sense memory of being swept up and away into dark eyes and strong arms, whispers of empty promises echoing in his ear?

Victor stops himself on the ice, shaking his head and smacking his forehead with a groan. He's a twenty-seven-year-old man, not a seventeen-year-old kid who doesn't know the difference between fooling around and actual feelings. He has no right to be this glum over a boy again, even one as wonderful as Yuuri had been.

It doesn't matter, really. Life goes on. Victor has another year to skate, another year to dangle one or two paths in front of everyone while he paves a third hidden in plain sight. People expect retirement. People expect him to win more gold medals. People expect him to start failing now that he's creeping up on thirty. Who does he prove right, and who does he surprise?

Was it really so much to want something different, even for a little while? Couldn't the world just let him have one thing all to himself?

Why is he still thinking about this? He'd only known Yuuri for a night. There's no good reason for him to still be this hung up on him, especially after he'd failed to uphold his end of their promise.

On the bench where he'd left his bag, he hears his phone go off. Not once, not twice, but with the intensity of heavy rain on a tin roof. He stares in its direction, wondering first if he'd forgotten to mute it again and secondly, what in the world was going on that required hundreds of people flooding his notifications.

He glides over, grabbing his skate guards as he approaches the entrance of the rink. As he bends to pop them on, he can see how his screen keeps lighting up over and over and over. At this rate, Victor's going to need to recharge it soon. What is so important that everyone wants him to see?

Carefully holding his now warm-to-the-touch phone, he swipes down to look at the lock screen. Hundreds of notifications from Twitter, just as many from Instagram, and at least twenty different texts from the handful of people who have been okayed with his personal contact information. He notices a pattern very quickly as he attempts to clear it all up. Everyone is either posting a video link from YouTube, or they're responding to other people screaming about it. A glance shows the video is the same video for everyone. This is too elaborate to be a prank. Hundreds of people wouldn't be in on a prank towards one person, would they? That's far too difficult to plan.

Finally, he taps the link and lets the page load. The title loads first, and the tiny creature in Victor's chest startles awake, coughing up another burst of fire to reignite the embers he'd thought dead.

_[Katsuki Yuuri] Covers Victor Nikiforov's FS [Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare]_

Ah.

It seems that Yuuri _was_ looking for him all this time. He was just more hidden than Victor expected him to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further Character Bits:  
> \- Most people like to think drunk!Yuuri only challenged Yuriy, Chris, and Victor to dance battles. _I_ think it'd be a little more apt (and funnier) if he used Yuriy as a warm-up before taking on _every single person who beat him_ and we only got to see those three because they were the ones present when they dropped this bomb on Yuuri. This was originally included here but writing the actual banquet was slowly turning into a 10+k beast all its own so it's in the side-fic pile by itself now.  
> \- For reference, Chris' mystery man/boyfriend was stated to be an ice dancer so his partner is present here, as well.  
> \- I am still not entirely convinced Georgiy was cheated on, given how his programs in the show are and the fact Anya actually does go and see him perform with her new beau. I am, however, going to keep implying that he tried to do a shitton of love magic to try and win her back before resorting to venting his feelings through skating.  
> \- If Mila's hockey player ex being female seems weird, remember that there isn't _officially_ a rule that excludes women from joining a league and coed teams are a thing.  
> \- JJ constantly being referred to as "Leroy Number [3-7]" is going to be a running gag whenever Victor has to talk about him. Look, I'm not over the fact he has 10 siblings according to the Production Book.  
> \- Phichit's hanging out in the Ice Dance area because I do have Celestino coaching a team, they've just... not been relevant enough to be named. If I ever get around to doing anything Detroit-era related, they'll pop up then.
> 
> With that, a chunk of backstory that would've been too much for the main story is revealed. There are still other bits of side story available, but I feel like it's better to keep them in their own collection if I decide to post them.


End file.
